Sticky
by msgenevieve447
Summary: The thing is, you can laugh about 'clichéd movie romance moments' as much as you like, but when it actually happens to you, it's pretty damned surreal. (tumblr prompt - whipped cream on the nose)


The thing is, you can laugh about 'clichéd movie romance moments' as much as you like, but when it actually happens to you, it's pretty damned surreal.

It's not as though she wouldn't have realised eventually that she had whipped cream on the tip of her nose, but Killian is too quick off the mark for his own good, just as he always is. He taps the end of his own nose, ducking his head in a tiny nod. "You've got a little something-"

Emma swipes the back of her hand across her nose (she knows, she knows, her mother would be appalled) then lifts her chin, presenting her face for inspection. "Gone?"

(Later, she will realise that she should have recognised the gleam of mischief in his eyes for what it was.)

"Not quite, love." He slides out of his side of the booth, taking only a few seconds to end up sitting beside her, his elbow resting on the table as he turns to study her, his upper body shielding her from any curious looks from their fellow diners. "If I may be of assistance?"

His eyes are too bright, his face too close to hers, and she keeps her gaze firmly fixed on his hooked hand, resting casually on the table top. When he brushes his nose against hers, she exhales, feeling the breath rush out of her lungs at the hum of awareness burning the tiny space between them. "You're all good, Swan," he finally announces, his breath warm against her lips, and the sudden urge to turn her head two inches to the right and sink her teeth into the strong line of his stubbled jaw wells up inside her like a firestorm.

She always did like a little salt with her sugar.

Ten seconds later, he's looking at her with mock outrage, somehow managing to make the smear of whipped cream on his cheek look faintly dashing. "That's bad form for a Sheriff, darling."

She smirks, admiring her handiwork on his tanned skin. "I'm on my break."

"In that case-" Something dark and hot flares in his eyes as he curls his hand around her wrist, tugging her fingers towards his mouth, and she _knows_ he's going to lick the cream from her fingertips, right here, in the middle of Granny's in the middle of the day. _Jesus. _

"Wait." Her heart seeming to pound in the back of her throat, she hastily grabs a napkin and wipes the cream from his cheek, then her sticky fingers. He watches her every movement, his gaze shimmering and hopeful, and she can barely hide her smile of anticipation as she mentally calculates how much of her lunch break she has left. "Get me another hot chocolate to go and I'll let you return the favour."

The look he gives her could have scorched her clothing into ash. "See you in my bed in five minutes, Swan."

It takes him four. He must have really turned on the charm to get Granny to rush through the order, she thinks, then she stops thinking at all because they're in his bed and his mouth is hot and insistent on her breasts and belly, his tongue slick and firm between her thighs. When he finally kisses her, (she's breathless and panting, still shuddering from the climax he's just wrenched from her) he tastes of chocolate and whipped cream and sex, and the urge to bite and tease wells up inside her all over again.

She reaches her hand down between them, finding the smooth thrust of his erection, twirling her thumb over the tip in a motion that has him jerking against her. She stretches out a languid arm towards the hot chocolate on the bedside table, stroking one fingertip through the whipped cream with an intent that has him breathing out a shaky sigh. "Your turn," she tells him, and sets out to explore her own path of revenge, one that ends with him arching beneath her as she kneels on the bed, her hair streaming over his belly and thighs, his hand clenching the sheets. He tastes of vanilla and sex and musk and heat, and she closes her eyes, committing it all to memory.

"Hell's bells, love, you're going to be a deputy short if you keep-"

His voice is thick and dark and raspy with the same need that's still burning her blood, and her answer is to scrape her teeth gently over his tender flesh. The sound of his muffled groan is music to her ears, and she smiles, her lips curving around him. His hand tangles in her hair, his words pleading now, her name falling from his lips like an erotic mantra, and she curls her sweet-sticky fingers around him, urging him on, coaxing him, pulling him towards the edge with a wildness that faintly shocks her.

Then again, she always did like a little salt with her sugar.


End file.
